


Better Together

by time_converges



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Joanlock - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/time_converges/pseuds/time_converges
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Joan go to Paris.  Fluff.<br/>(an expansion of the snippets written for the JWP prompts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there, leaning on the railing, holding the universe together.”  
> — J.D. Salinger

“Watson, is your passport still valid?” Sherlock asked as he walked into the library.

“Yes, for a few more years I think. Why?” Joan responded absently, not looking up from her book.

“Well—“ he started. “That is, I was wondering—“ he paced the length of the room before turning back to face her.

She closed her book and looked up at him. “Yes?”

“One of my cousins is getting married, and Father is insisting I go. Ordinarily, I would defy him, of course, but I thought perhaps if you were amenable to accompanying me…” He looked at her hopefully.

“Where is the wedding?” she asked, warily. She wasn’t keen on going back to London yet, but she might be persuaded.

“Paris,” he said, quickly.

She tossed the book aside and sat up.“Paris? Seriously?”

He nodded, the beginnings of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

She hesitated, torn between wanting to play it cool and wanting to show her excitement at the idea of finally going to Paris. Seeing the sparkle in his eyes, she gave in to the enthusiasm. "Is it too soon to start packing?"

"I'll get your suitcase out of storage," he said, heading upstairs.

"I'll need to use yours - it's bigger," she called after him.

***  
The morning they left, Joan reviewed her packing list, finalized after much indecision of which clothes to take, and cross-referenced with possible sight-seeing possibilities. She wanted to be sure she hadn't forgotten anything important. She double checked that she had put the two cold case files in her carry-on bag to distract Sherlock during the flights. He was a nervous flier, and she had discovered that he could be adequately distracted during the majority of a flight if he had something sufficiently engaging to read. 

She had also learned that no amount of reading or conversation could distract him during take-off and landing. He was simply too attuned to the sounds of the plane and the anxiety of those around him to do anything but sit in barely repressed panic as the plane ascended or descended. She had discovered the solution by accident on their first flight together, when she had been so concerned about him that she had just taken his hand without thinking. He had grasped her hand in response, his palm warm against hers, and she had seen him visibly relax. He had let go with an apologetic look once the captain turned off the seat belt signs.

When they boarded their flight to Paris she followed their now familiar routine. She sat in the inside seat, and he took the aisle after quickly stowing their luggage overhead. She put the case file for him in the pocket of the seat in front of him, and her own reading material in her own seat pocket. They fastened their seatbelts, and then she took his hand with a smile. The flight attendant glanced at them with an indulgent smile as she passed. Another benefit of the hand-holding she had discovered was that the flight crew was much more benevolent toward Sherlock and his endless questions if they had seen them holding hands previously.

The takeoff and climb to altitude was bumpier than usual thanks to several storms around the airport, and Sherlock remained tense despite his firm grip on her hand. He tapped his other hand nervously on his leg. She squeezed his hand and he looked down at her, barely-disguised fear in his eyes. 

“Thank you for inviting me on this trip,” she said. 

He nodded, but didn’t answer, so she leaned up to press a light kiss to his cheek. She felt him tense up again, but she could tell it was a different tension, and when she pulled back to meet his gaze, it wasn’t panic in his eyes any more.

“Watson,” he said. “Thank you.”

She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. She fell asleep before the pilot turned off the seat-belt lights, but when she awoke, he was still holding her hand, and by all appearances hadn't moved. She sat up, blinking sleepily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"Do not trouble yourself," he said, releasing her hand slowly and reaching for the case file in the seat pocket. "I envy your ability to sleep on a plane."

She shrugged. "It's a leftover skill from residency -- the ability to sleep anywhere, anytime."

He nodded. "As I said, a useful skill to have," he said, looking at her sidelong. "My shoulder is at your disposal if you need a pillow."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said with a smile, reaching for her magazine and settling in for the rest of the flight.

At the airport, he had their baggage collected, got them through customs, and into a cab before she had quite registered that they were in Paris. She had to admit it was intriguing to see him like this, maybe not relaxed, but certainly confident and familiar with his surroundings. He spoke French easily with the cab driver, although he translated for Joan without even a reproach that she was neglecting her language training. He switched to English at the hotel, for which she was grateful as well. The hotel staff was very welcoming even before they recognized his name. They were quickly escorted upstairs to their adjoining suites, with assurances that if anything further was required they should simply pick up the phone.

Joan quickly dropped her luggage by the bed, and stepped out onto the terrace to look down over the city. "Sherlock, come out here and see the view," she called back to him.

He walked through the door connecting their suites and joined her on the terrace. "I tried for an Eiffel Tower view, but those were all booked, I'm afraid."

She smiled. "You'll hear no complaints from me. I can see why they chose this hotel for the reception." The room was luxurious without being ostentatious, and the view of the city was spectacular. After seeing the beautiful lobby, with its elaborate wall hangings and dazzling chandeliers, she could only assume the reception halls were equally stunning.

He shrugged. "It's the hotel du jour for such things." 

"So, what's on the agenda for the rest of today?" She hoped for time for a nap, but at least she had slept on the plane.

"We have no obligations until the family dinner tonight. I would not want to presume that you would want a nap--" he began.

"A nap would be perfect," she said, quickly. "We'll have time for sightseeing tomorrow, right?"

"Of course."

"Good, then a nap it is," she said.

The bed was as comfortable as it was beautiful, but she managed only an hour's sleep before she was wide awake again. She decided it was probably best to try to adjust to local time, so she took her book out onto the terrace to read. Sherlock joined her out there after only a few minutes. He brought the case file from the plane and they sat in companionable silence, reading, until it was time to dress for dinner.

***  
Downstairs, he paused just outside the restaurant, and Joan glanced up at him. "What is it?"

"Nothing, just gathering my resolve." He glanced down at her. "I fear we must 'imitate the action of the tiger,' Watson."

She tilted her head at him. "Shakespeare?" she asked. "Henry the Fifth, right?"

"Full marks, Watson. Indeed, we must 'stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,'" he continued.  
"I hardly think a family gathering is equivalent to war with France," she said, her smile betraying her.

"You haven't met enough of my family to be sure," he replied, offering her his arm.

She raised her eyebrows as she thought of Mycroft, but she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Once more unto the breach," she said. "And remember, Henry won that battle."

He smiled at her and opened the door.

***  
They had no sooner walked into the restaurant than Sherlock was accosted by a tall, blond woman, who grabbed his other arm. Joan quickly released his arm as the woman said, "Sherlock, I've been waiting simply ages for you to arrive!"

Sherlock pulled his arm from the woman's grip. "Melissa, I had no idea you'd be here," he said, without a trace of warmth in his tone.

"But of course I'm here," she replied with a predatory smile. "It is our favorite cousin getting married, after all. Now, I've put you at my table, naturally, so you can tell me everything you've been up to."

Sherlock turned to Joan and put his arm around her shoulders lightly. "Watson, may I present Melissa Wolf - we grew up together. Melissa, this is Joan Watson."

Joan smiled and held out her hand. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Delighted, I'm sure," Melissa said coolly, just barely grasping Joan's hand before releasing her and returning her attention to Sherlock. "Come along - you must be starving after your trip. Let's eat and you can tell me about New York, and I can tell you all of the stories of Sherlock's childhood."

During dinner Joan managed to deduce that Melissa had grown up with Sherlock, as he said, although she was about 10 years younger than he was. Her stories of Sherlock's childhood turned out to be mostly stories of her own attempts to get his attention, to varying degrees of success. She punctuated each story with a firm squeeze of Sherlock’s arm, and he flinched every time.

"But, why didn't you come back to London?" Melissa asked. "I thought after you finished … treatment--" this last was said in a breathless undertone suggesting suppressed scandal - "that you'd return."

Sherlock shook his head. "My work --our work -- is in New York," he said, glancing at Joan. "There's nothing for me in London."

Melissa pouted prettily. "I'm in London, silly."

Joan reached for Sherlock's hand where it rested on the table and squeezed it. "Work keeps us very busy," she said, looking up at him through her lashes with a smile. Sherlock looked at her sharply, but didn't pull away.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "As I said, everything I need is in New York."

"I see," Melissa said, coldly. "Well, we'll have plenty of time to catch up this weekend," she said, with false brightness, before turning her attention to the person sitting on her other side. She glanced back at Joan once, her eyes narrowed, but Joan just smiled back at her.

Sherlock leaned down to whisper, "Watson, I assure you there's no need to pretend to a different relationship than we have."

She smiled and said, equally softly, "You whispering in my ear is not going to convince people we aren't a couple."

He raised his eyebrows at her, but didn't respond. When they left to return upstairs, he took her hand.

***  
Once back in the room, Joan sat down on the couch and turned to him with an eyebrow raised. "So...Melissa?"

He rubbed his face with his hand and sat down next to her. "I do apologize--" he began.

She shook her head. "No need, I know the type." 

He looked at her sidelong. "Do you?"

"Daddy's little girl, used to the world doing her bidding. I did enjoy the stories of you as a child though."

He sighed. "Her stories are not representative of my childhood."

She looked at him, remembering the stories Alastair had told her about Sherlock. "No, I believe that."

He leaned back against the back of the couch, and closed his eyes. "She was exhausting to deal with, even then. But I felt responsible, somehow, for protecting her." He opened his eyes to look over at her again. "Odd, I know, since she seems so self-possessed. Even then she had a commanding presence."

She leaned back, mirroring his posture. "No, I get that you'd feel protective for her, like a little sister. But she didn't think of you as a brother."

"No, she did not. She had the idea early on that we would fall in love and get married as soon as she was old enough. Despite my attempts to dissuade her, she was not convinced of my disinterest."

"Still isn't," Joan said with a laugh.

"So it would appear." He paused and cleared his throat. "I meant what I told her - that my life now is in New York. And Watson, there really is no need for you to pretend that we are--" he waved his hand vaguely between them.

She shrugged. "I wanted to see her reaction." The truth was that she had felt protective of him, and if she was honest with herself, a bit territorial as well. Not that she would admit that to him. "So, what is the plan for tomorrow?" she asked.

"I thought a walk along the Seine if you're up for it? The weather tomorrow is supposed to be good, and there are some lovely gardens and shops."

"That sounds perfect," she said, before being overcome by a yawn.

"But first, sleep," he said with a grin. 

"Yes, sleep," she agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Joan studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror thoughtfully. Sherlock had awakened her with breakfast in bed, before leaving her to get dressed for their outing. After a bit of deliberation, she had settled on something pretty yet practical - this was Paris, after all, but she wanted to be comfortable. She was glad she had brought this coat – her favorite black one that nipped in at the waist and flared out over her hips. It wasn’t really warm enough for most days in New York, but today in Paris looked sunny enough to make it perfect. 

“Watson, are you ready?” Sherlock’s called to her from the sitting room. She emerged from the bedroom to find him standing and fidgeting with his cuffs, waiting for her. He was wearing his usual pea-coat, which she found oddly comforting. 

“Yes, ready.”

The cathedral was their first stop, and they enjoyed a wander through the bookshops which resulted in several boxes of books being shipped home for them. But the botanical gardens were everything the tour books had promised, and they spent a long time just wandering through, occasionally stopping to examine a particular plant more closely, or for a short botany lesson from Sherlock. He stood close to her as they bent over one of the plants, and she turned quickly to find him looking at her rather than the plants, watching her reaction. She felt herself blush, and she straightened, walking on to the next specimen with him close behind her.

The sun was warm, so she unbuttoned her coat, and so did he. She found herself watching his face as he talked, noticing the lines around his eyes, and how the sun caught his eyelashes. She thought of the night before, how natural it had been to just reach for his hand at dinner, and how he hadn't moved away from her touch. As they walked back out onto the street, she impulsively took his hand.

He folded his fingers around hers, but said, “Watson, as I said, you don’t have to pretend –“

She shook her head and squeezed his hand, feeling her heart pounding as she stepped into the unknown. “I’m not pretending. Are you?”

He stopped walking and looked down at her, releasing her hand. 

She turned to face him fully, taking a deep breath. “You told me once that you were better with me,” Joan said quietly.

Sherlock nodded. “I am better with you.”

She shook her head. “Maybe. But I think it goes both ways. I think we’re better together.”

“Together,” he repeated.

She closed the distance between them, noticing that his breathing sped up as she stopped in front of him. “Yes, together. I love what we are…together.”

“So, Watson, what do you want?” he asked softly.

She took a deep breath. “This. Us.” She hesitated. “You.”

“What do you want?” he repeated, as she took his hand gently.

“I want to be able to touch you. I want you to touch me. I want to see if what we have – this connection – is strong enough for that.”

He reached up to brush her hair back from her cheek. “So what do you want, right now?”

She swallowed hard. “I want you to kiss me,” she whispered.

“My dear Watson, I thought you’d never ask,” he said. He drew her closer, and her breath caught in anticipation as he bent his head toward her. He rested his hand on her cheek as his lips touched hers, and she managed to grasp the rough lapels of his coat in an attempt to ground herself. His lips were soft and undemanding until she gasped and opened against him, and he deftly swept his tongue along her lower lip, delicately tasting her. She felt an electric shiver pass through her whole body as she moved closer to him, and he made a sound that was not quite a moan in the back of his throat as his arms dipped under her coat and around her, so he could hold her closer to him. She slid her arms up and around his neck, giving in to the urge to thread her fingers through his hair. When she broke the kiss, finally, to look up at him with a smile, she was delighted to see he looked as dazed as she felt. Both of them were breathing hard.

“Um, we should go back to the hotel,” she whispered.

He nodded, speechless.

“The wedding, remember?” she said gently, smiling at him and resting her hand against his cheek. He turned his face into her palm to place a small kiss there.

“Right, the wedding,” he agreed.

She stepped back, smoothing her coat down and glancing quickly at the other people nearby. None of them seemed to be paying them the least amount of attention, so she quickly leaned up on tiptoes to press another kiss to his lips.

***

They were not quite late to the wedding. They rushed in just as the music was starting and took seats near the back of the church. The ceremony itself was nothing but a blur to Joan, because all she could focus on was Sherlock's hand covering hers. She felt like a teenager, confused by the rush of feelings she had only just started admitting to herself. He put his arm around her and she leaned against him. Whatever this was between, she knew they would figure it out together. 

At the reception, he stood and held out his hand in invitation as the band began to play the first dance. She felt a little awkward, but she let him draw her out onto the dance floor and into his arms, and she smiled up at him. "You are smooth, Mr. Holmes," she said.

He chuckled. "I am using all of my charms to seduce you, Ms. Watson," he said as he drew her closer. 

She leaned in, close enough to smell his shampoo and that scent she identified as him, and whispered, "Show me your moves."

He moved his hand lower, to press against her lower back and then to the rise of her hip, and she leaned against his touch. She felt every touch as a spark rushing through her. She gripped his hand tighter and bit her lip, looking up at him to see if he was feeling the same response. His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen, and she saw his gaze dip down to her lips before meeting her gaze again. She moved closer still, oblivious to the other dancers as he moved them around the dance floor. When the music transitioned to the next song, they stopped to one side, both of them breathing hard.

She stepped closer again. "Upstairs?" she breathed in his ear, just barely brushing her lips against his skin.

He nodded and took her hand.

***  
Joan woke up to the sight of Sherlock in her bed, the case file from the plane spread out around him. She stretched and slid over closer to him, enjoying the ache in her muscles. He put his arm around her, letting her rest her head on his chest. 

"Alright?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm, you?" 

"Never better," he replied, running his hand up and down her arm gently. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

She shook her head against him. "No, not at all. What are you doing? I thought you'd get some sleep."

"I am taking advantage of the rush of endorphins to work on this case."

She smiled. "Any breakthroughs? You keep going back to that picture of the house after the fire."

He turned the picture so she could see it. "Indeed. Something about it and the report of the arson investigator hasn't seemed quite right."

"How do you mean?"

He pointed at one corner of the photo. "The investigator said that the fire started here, in this corner, at the electrical outlet. The damage matches that theory. He said the fire was accidental. But if you look here--" he pointed at the other corner of the room in the photo. "The pattern of damage here suggests that the fire started here."

"So the fire started in two places, all by itself?"

"Doesn't seem likely, but it could be a massive electrical fault of some kind. I can't determine that from the photo, but a computer model might tell us more."

She stroked her hand over his chest, carding her fingers through his chest hair. "Mm-hmm." She slid her leg up along his.

He looked down at her with a smile. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"Just thinking maybe another release of endorphins might help," she said, moving her hand lower. He put the case file aside and rolled her underneath him.

"When you put it that way," he said, bending to kiss her, before moving his lips down her jaw, nipping and nuzzling against her.

"Are you saying we'll have to have sex every time we need a breakthrough in a case?" She gasped as he found the sensitive spot behind her ear.

He pulled back to look at her. "Are you objecting?"

She reached up to pull him back down to her. "Not at all."

***  
Joan leaned on the balcony railing, enjoying a last look at the city below. She could hear Sherlock moving around the room, checking that they hadn’t left anything behind before they left for the airport. The past few days had been like a dream - sightseeing during the day, and then returning to the hotel when they couldn't keep their hands off of each other for another minute. She smiled to herself when she heard his footsteps behind her, and leaned back against him as he encircled her waist with his arms.

“We could stay longer, if you like,” he murmured, before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Mmm, tempting, but I do miss the brownstone. We should definitely come back again though.”

“Definitely,” he agreed. He rested his cheek against hers. 

She turned to face him, and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss. He pressed her up against the railing, deepening the kiss, but she pulled away after a moment with a breathless laugh. “We’ll miss our flight,” she said.

He blinked at her for a moment. “Yes, of course. The taxi should be waiting downstairs.” He bent to kiss her again, before going to collect their luggage.

***  
Once they were settled in their seats, she followed her usual routine of putting a case file for him and reading material for her in the seat pockets. He surprised her by leaning over to help her get the pillow adjusted behind her back. 

“Thanks,” she said. She sat back and waited for him to fasten his seatbelt, trying not to worry whether all of this was just some sort of Parisian dream—that he would want to return to just being business associates once they got back to New York and their familiar life. She looked up, slightly startled, when he took her hand and entwined her fingers with his. He lifted her hand to his lips for a quick kiss and she caught her breath. 

“Alright?” he asked, looking at her closely.

“Never better,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze.

***  
Sherlock dropped their luggage on the floor as she closed the front door to the brownstone firmly behind them.

“Home sweet home,” he said, turning to her.

She laughed. “Shall I order us something to eat? Are you hungry?”

He shook his head as he stepped slowly closer to her. She stepped back, dropping her shoulder bag on the floor at her feet as he put his arms around her. He braced her against the wall as he kissed her thoroughly. She pulled him hard against her, sliding her hands under his jacket.  
He pulled away to look at her, without releasing her. “I’ve been wanting to do that since—“

“The cab ride?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Forever,” he said, leaning down to kiss her again.


	3. One Year Later

Joan leaned on the balcony railing, looking out over the city. She could hear Sherlock moving around the room, setting their luggage down. She smiled to herself when she heard his footsteps behind her, and leaned back against him as he put his arms around her waist.

"I can't believe you got the same room," she said.

"But of course, it wouldn't be the same otherwise, would it?" he said. "Just one room this time, and not quite a year to the day since our last visit, but otherwise..." He brushed her hair aside so he could kiss the side of her neck, and she sighed.

"So tomorrow is the river walk again," she said as she turned to face him.

He nodded. "And tonight?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her quickly.

"Tonight we see if that bed is as delightful as I remember," she replied, taking his hand and pulling him toward the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> ***parts of this were originally written in a slightly different form for some of the Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts.


End file.
